Can't Reset
by Kenta Wolf
Summary: Resident Evil: Nemesis goes to a place authors never dare to go...In life, there are no second chances, and fate rarely hands out a happy ending. Against will, against want, sometimes a story ends and you can't reset.
1. Awakening

Can't Reset

DISCLAIMER: None of these characters are mine, blah, blah, blah, they belong to Capcom, blah, blah, blah. To fill in the gaps and what happened before, just go by S.D. Perry's version. Yes, I took some things from her but she does things SO well. I seem to also have absorbed her writing style into my own by osmosis, if you get that feeling whilst reading.

There are no real chapters, so run it all together. I've simply split the story into character views so I can update the story faster.

CAN'T RESET

"This wasn't some kind of game, where he could push a reset button if he missed a trick."

-Chris, _Resident Evil: The Umbrella Conspiracy_

_ _

There was a fearful leaden weight on Jill's eyelids as she tried to open them. The thick folds of consciousness were resistant to her waking, and as she pushed out of them reluctantly, they lapped at her, trying to stick on and hold back. But…no…the rain sound was too loud. The consistent shush of rainfall was pulling her out as she wanted to wake yet still wanted to stay in that utter soft solidity of sleep. It was a gorgeous sound. Water was so soothing to her. God, but it was annoying, getting so loud. At the moment she focused on what it was it became stronger and sucked her out of sick sleep.

Jill found balmy yellow light against her eyelids as she awoke out of hot, uncomfortable dreams. She was aware of space around her, if not much. There were metallic clicks somewhere close- very clear, with no echo, so it must've been a small room. The world was fuzzy for a moment as she opened her eyes, but soon candlelight came into focus. Dark mahogany wood, soft red carpet, hard pews…

Her thoughts were languid while she became aware of the humidity of the room. Her skin felt clammy and the atmosphere made her muscles like noodles. _Jesus_, her mouth was dry. Seemed ironic such being it was like a jungle in here. Dehydration, great. She had to get up, find some water-

God, she had to get her gun-

Zombies-

Spiders-

That big, ugly-assed hulk of shit-  
Jill's body sparked with desperate adrenalin and she jerked out of her stasis-

-_Where in_ hell _am I_?

"_Easy_, Jill-" she heard Carlos' voice and an ice-cool hand on her shoulder, easing her down gently. To her surprise, she collapsed easily, body fatigued and weak beyond reason. _Church_, she thought as she recognized the setting before she slipped her eyes closed.

But everything was so confusing. Jill didn't know where to begin to make sense of things. Nemesis went off into the fiery wreckage of the helicopter- their last hope- because she blasted the shit out of the thing…but it could come back. It _would _come back, it giving a new meaning to relentless. Of course, that wasn't what she meant to be thinking…it was…was that she didn't know what happened after the Tyrant giant limped away. Or why in God's name she was in the chapel.

_Carlos?_

"Carlos…" she murmured.

"I'm here," he answered softly. Jill cracked her eyes open. He held a water bottle, looking strained and concerned. "Drink this, it'll help." His skin was thankfully cool as he held her up and tipped the liquid between her lips. Why was he so cold in the humidity? It was too muggy.

He capped the bottle and set it somewhere below where she was laying. Where was she laying? The altar? How strange-reminded her of some satanic B-movie sacrifice.

"Jill, you feelin' okay? Can you follow my finger?"

She rolled her eyes up and tracked his tanned finger as he brought it back and forth in front of him. She felt groggy, as if fighting off a sleeping pill.

"Okay, you're sorta slow, but at least you're awake. Are you alright?"

"What happened?"

He closed his mouth and his eyebrows came down a bit. After some hesitation, he answered. "It's been two days since the rescue attempt. Nemesis hasn't appeared since. You fainted or fell unconscious- I don't know because when I woke up you weren't moving. You had a wound-"

_Oh, shit. The attack!_

"-but after compression it quit bleeding and started to heal."

Jill attempted to sit up but her right shoulder- the wound- pulsed with a hard heat that kept her from going very far.

"Hey- don't try to get up. Just lay down and rest." He again pressed frigid fingers down on her arms to keep her still.

A wave of sluggishness dropped whatever tense muscles she had. His hand came up and pressed against her forehead. Jill closed her eyes, enjoying the cool of Carlos' palm seeping into her sticky skin.

"Its tentacle…went into my shoulder. God, Carlos…"

She felt his hand stiffen. "What's the matter?"

She swallowed and tried to moisturize her mouth by compressing it.

"It infected me."

There was a silence. Jill opened her eyes and looked to Carlos. He was staring at her hard, mouth open a crack. His eyes swarmed in alarm.

"Y-you…can't know that," he stammered. "Besides-it-it's been two days. Y-you should've…already…" His voice fell away. Jill swallowed heavily. He looked visibly shaken, and his deep brown eyes were darting which way and that. They returned to her desperate. Somehow, if it was possible, he looked even more strained. "Right…?"

Jill couldn't stand looking at him any longer. She rolled over and curled.

"I don't know. Maybe this is a different virus. Maybe it's because I was unconscious."

_Jill, you're going to die. You know it._ No, not die. She was going to lose her self to some monster. To her body. She couldn't do anything about it, either. It was going to eat away at her comprehension and body. Slowly. And all she could do was lay there and wait-

"I don't know. All I know is it's getting worse!"

"Okay, okay, shh," Carlos said. She heard him moving around and turned to look. He grabbed his assault rifle and slung it over his shoulder. On the front pew, barely visible in the flitting light, were her bazooka and Eagle, which he snatched and secured determinedly. He looked extremely focused and angry, seething in something which made his movements deft and sure. Was he…?

"Wha…What are you doing?" 

He answered without looking up. "I'm going to get something to help you."

Jill blinked, reeling at his reply. To help…there wasn't…

She was struck with a swell of emotion that tasted like gratitude and more like hopeless pity. Carlos wanted to find something that didn't exist. To save her. It was unbearable sweet in its patheticism. She didn't want to hear it. She didn't want him to go out and fail and return…just to play the little drama. Why must they always play the last hope, when it was hopeless?

Jill rolled back to watch the gentle candelabras with a fuzzy hardness behind her eyes. Just let him, she told herself. He wants to do it. It'll make him feel better…feel justified…when the time came she- turned. At least he made the gesture. At least he didn't accept the first course of events.

She could feel his presence near the altar. _Probably the stupid last look- don't go and do this Carlos, you know it's worthless. It's better if you just stay and remind me of my humanity up until the end- and put a bullet to good use as soon as my sense of self is dead…_

"Carlos."

"Yes?" he responded hesitantly. He sounded as if he was afraid to listen, as if he knew what was coming.

"When you come back…and I've turned into a zombie…I want you to do what I would do." She sighed and rested her eyes. 'Kill me."

Carlos didn't reply. She heard his footsteps- heavy boots muffling on the carpet- and the ponderous chapel door closing.


	2. The Hunter Betas

All Carlos Oliviera could think about was that one wormwood-rotted door by the maiden-cog trick. He jogged steady across the marble of the main clocktower hall, his boots giving off a hollow tattoo. His steady stream of plans were momentarily faltered as he swallowed down a rise of bile and frustration while picking his way across the silent, haunting shell of the rescue 'chopper. The blackened scraps were strewn everywhere, a main chunk had splattered the fine staircase into husky splinters, rendering it pretty much useless. There wasn't anything pertinent up there now, anyhow. He remembered going out to check the crash, filing through the wreckage with an arduous pace. No way that pilot could have survived.

Carlos was relieved when he stepped into the miniature library. He was washed in the putrid sweet smell of rot, overwhelming his senses, but at least he wasn't watching a long lost hope. A lengthy sigh escaped his breath. He couldn't dottle, though. Jill was depending on him to find the hospital and get that vaccine. And he _would_, she would be _safe_, if a little tired. Then they could get the hell out of Raccoon City, this freaky and reality-fucked place that had been torment ever since he arrived. And now, it could get worse. If he wasn't back in time, or if the vaccine wasn't there, he would have to shoot someone he cared about. As if the flesh-eating ghouls weren't enough.

He came upon the little workshop area, looked back once wishing Jill to stay put and conserve energy, and dug in his feet. He rammed the massive rusty-gold bell with a grunt and was rewarded by the give. It scrapped across the floor sonorously and Carlos was breathing shallowly by the time he pushed it away from the back door. He gave an involuntary smile as the assaulting waft of damp dirt and concrete issued from beyond the door as he opened it. The sound of rain was clear. It lead outside. _Gracias, dios_, he thought.

When he came out of the small alley, Carlos' heart left and a huge weight lifted from his shoulders. The hospital was barely a block away. What fucking luck. He unholstered the Eagle and stood solidly, picking off the three carriers carefully. He wasn't really seeing them- he was so blithe he didn't have to go that far, that he'd be back with Jill in no time.

The glass from a blown car's window crunched sloshily underfoot while Carlos sprinted to the looming infirmary. He crammed the pistol away and unslung his assault rifle. He didn't know what was in there, better to be prepared. When he got up the white steps, Carlos peered inside through the glass doors. Well-lit, clean, as if nothing ever had gone wrong in the place. _Except its dead._ The recesses of the lobby had deep shadows, too. Looked like it was half shutdown. That he feared. He reached out a hand and grasped the handle, gave the door a tug. He felt his heart sink as the doors jiggled together. _God_ dammit-

Wait. Maybe he could break the bolt between the doors.

Carlos seized his rifle, brought his leg up and swiftly kicked the bead-cut of the door separation. They bowed in and came back. _Well, hell, idiot, you think it would work on the first try?_ So he slammed on the again and again until about the tenth try he had put on so much weight behind it he was able to push a smite and feel the lock slide away. _Must've been a desperation move to get the doors closed- that wasn't much._

__As soon as he stepped in he gave the lobby a good survey. Couches, reception desk, some sort of vending machine…there was a dark room to his right, the window had blinds pulled. There was a bit of a corner where reception was, and he had to secure the room first, but still a peek wouldn't be so bad. He'd just skim by the window.

The place wasn't dead quiet. The place was surface-of-the-moon quiet. It was other-worldly and seriously gave him the creeps. The hospital felt as if nothing human had _ever_ set foot in it, much less anything _living_-

Carlos whipped around as a low, urging moan came from the unsecured reception. Of course, zombies were gonna be here, if only it didn't sound like a patient groaning out to hospital staff. He hefted the rifle to take care of the carrier-

There was an insane squeal that gave him the impression of thin, keen blade edges. A slice of dark black blood spurted out from behind the corner and made a wet slap against the clean wall, followed by the collapsing corpse of a decapitated zombie. As the head lobbed out in squishy cracks, bits of scalp sloughing off when it hit a chair leg, a shadow slithered over the fallen carrier.

_Thump-click. Thump-click._

__Carlos didn't like the sound of that. It was heavy, whatever it was. He nervously lifted his assault rifle as the monster loomed out.

His breath caught in his throat as a hulking, hunched creature turned around. It was covered in bumpy, pebblelike scales the color of barfy moss, bibulous red sores growing out of its back. It _had_ no neck, just a flat skull, slitted eyes, and a blockish jaw. Its arms dropped to the floor, hands a mitt of short, vicious claws that stretched in anticipation when it lay its bright yellow stare on him.

Carlos felt his heart fluttering out of control. When he had overseen the…the thing it dropped its mouth and let emanate that horrifically indescribable scream and leapt-

-he jerked up the rifle unconsciously and fired a deafening stream of bullets into its lunging reptilian body thinking only of how short life was and how the hell could anyone fuck up a city so much with such a mistake as the T-virus all he wanted was to get out of the place with Jill wanted oddly for her to have enough strength to slap him again just be alive I'm fighting this shit for you goddammit-

The monster came down on him and its bulk hit him to the floor. He heard the remnants of his own yell of disgust dissipate into the recesses of the hospital.

…_I'm alive?_

__Carlos opened his eyes, breathing heavily and clenching his teeth. His mind and head were buzzing with the pangs of adrenalin that were making him sweat bullets. He was wildly dazed and befuddled. Shifted, he ecstatically found the creature lying atop him.

_God I can't_ breathe-

But he was okay. What fucking luck.

The thing was dead when it hit him. He could feel the lower half of his body saturated in hot liquid, see the dark, gummy pool silently spreading beneath the thing. The weight of it was crushing him; he gripped the hard, moist shoulders of it and rolled it off. The corpse fell into its own lake of blood with a stout smack, upturning for view its shredded stomach and chest, variable pits opening up the mess of meat.

Carlos grimaced at both that and the fully soaked pants he had on. He turned away from the bestial stench of the thing and clutched at his weapon. As he rose to a crouch, he realized the rifle wasn't going to save him from close calls like that. Those things were built like trucks-

-obviously built to kill.

He used the rifle and a column to boost himself up, slicking a hand through his sweaty hair and finally letting his tension leave his muscles. The rifle was slung on his back and he was chambering a grenade into the launcher when he felt his blood go cold.

He strained his ears to listen past the deafening silence that wandered like a ghost prophesizing doom.

_Thump-click. Thump-click._

Carlos snapped the launcher up with panic pounding in his ears.

_Thump-click._

Another one? He hoped the place wasn't teeming with them.

_Thump-click._

_It's like they're hunting me._

__The Hunter slid around the corner, its crouched body already catching hold of the tile to propel it in his direction. Carlos clamped down on his skittishness and fired. The grenade caught the beast in the collar, whipping it back, and the round blew. The explosion echoed easily and the force pushed the Hunter down. He felt a rush of joy seizing him as the fireball faded away.

_That's some powerful shit!_

__But incredulity pulled his breath away from him as the thing began to rise, its upper chest and neck charred black and warped in its reshaped disturbance. Trickles of congealed blood lapped the edges of the wound. When it got balanced, he swore it looked squarely at him with those animal eyes, as if thinking, "I don't think so."

Carlos fired again into its chest as it sprung. He caught it in the split second it took to halve the distance between them.

This time, it stayed still where it fell.

He rapidly ran into the darkened room, not wanting to face any more Hunters. The new area held no surprises; it was a square library or prescription room, messily taken care of. He glanced back through the blinds to the lobby, and seeing no new threats coming from behind, began to search everywhere for anything.

AUTHOR's NOTE: 

Bazooka is the same as grenade launcher, at least in my world. Hey- Can you tell I don't like Hunters? Ain't it obscure?


	3. The Fourth Floor

Jill awoke, suddenly and violently. Her heart stammered erratically against her ribcage until she calmed it down. She had to reassure herself that she was safe…momentarily.

She'd rather sleep than think about her death. Of course, she could try to think of other things. All she could turn her attentions to were how Carlos was out risking his life for her. Well, he wasn't exactly risking his life-he was a trained soldier- yet he may have run into Nemesis, or some demented new T-virus creation. Maybe something that was made from what was pumping through her veins right now…

Jill caught herself staring at her wrist and quickly looked away.

No, he could take care of himself; she was just worried how he was going to handle having to kill her. _Jesus, Jill, aren't you worried how you're going to handle him having to kill you?_ Well, she was handling it, wasn't she? She wasn't going all psycho, she wasn't breaking down, she wasn't…anything.

Perhaps that was a particularly bad thing.

It wasn't as if Jill was going to _see_ Carlos putting the barrel to her head and squeezing the trigger- that would make her freak out.

Strangely, though, that was all she could see.

_God, Jill, you promised yourself you wouldn't think about it._

Poor Carlos.

_Stop it!_

"Okay, alright," she said to herself, attempting to sit up, instead, to occupy her time. It was so _hot_, and before she last fell into ill slumber she had realized it was the virus. The wound was finally content it caught her at her first wake and had mildly subsided its wrath, allowing her singly mild winces as she rolled up. Accomplishing that, Jill reached down and took up the water bottle Carlos had left by her side and gave a content sigh as she unscrewed the top. Though she was sure it was lukewarm- it wasn't as if the priest or whomever kept a fridge around- it was a glacier to her desert of a throat. Thank God Carlos got it from…wherever he did.

Jill limped around like an achy old woman, surveying the cozy chapel. The beat of rain on the tall windows made her nostalgic, and she could remember watching rain as a child, wondering where it came from. Always liked the sound of water. She took the cloth from the smaller altar as another pillow and found the rest of the stash of water in a screechy, complaining old trunk by a typewriter. At sight of where Carlos had been sleeping, Jill felt again the rise of sadness. He had spent two days on a hard wooden pew with only one curtain from the next room. He had piled them on the altar for her.

_Self-sacrificing son of a bitch-_

__Maybe he was one of those kinds of people. He _had_ said the first time they met- _a few hours ago_- he and the Umbrella Bio-hazard Countermeasure Service was there to rescue civilians. Well, _he_ at least was there to rescue the civilians. And since she was the last one left, that meant her. Hmph. Jill hoped she wasn't just a job for him. Didn't get through all that shit just to be a civilian to him. She wasn't helpless. He took her grenade launcher, after all.

Jill smirked.

Carlos frowned grimly.

There was an insane amount of buttons in the damn elevator. Oh, yeah, great. Get to the damn hospital but have to go through five floors and three basements with a fine-toothed comb. As if not finding anything useful in his search was enough.

_"Health spray" my ass. I'll believe it'll heal a bite wound the say I see the walking de -_

__He stopped in midthought and briefly considered retrieving the green aerosol can.

"Nhah." Might as well start somewhere, so might as well start anywhere, _si_? Carlos jabbed the fourth floor button. The elevator doors hummed closed and he felt the jostle and gravitational pull of the lift. He grasped the grip of the launcher, reader for arrival. Good thing he had brought it with him. Who knew he needed that heavy of firepower? Thank Jill for that.

It was taking an awfully long time for the elevator to rise four levels. God forbid anyone with any life-threatening injuries came to the hospital. He would've bled to death while listening to the lounge music…Carlos then realized there _was_ no elevator music. That was sort of depressing. So he pursed his lips together and lightly whistled something he heard Frank Sinatra sing once. First time he heard it was on a drive from the U.B.C.S. building, on the highway with the car windows down. Funny how he could remember that considering he never gave it a thought while listening to it.

The ding resounded aplombly from the panel above the door, probably deploring him for his being off-tune –

A bourgeoning roll of starving groans pushed at him when the elevator doors slid open, and immediately onset of him was a throng of severely rotten zombies. They were falling over themselves groping for him, and it didn't help the ones in the back pushing blindly forward added to the stumble speed of the front-runners.

Carlos nearly reacted by pulling the trigger for the grenade launcher, but reason cut through his fright. If he fired, there was no way to be sure it would either go over their heads or through limb gaps – best bet it would come ricocheting back to him –

With one movement Carlos dropped the launcher and shrugged his body to swing the assault rifle 'round. As it slapped his stomach he yanked it forward and let it peal into the arm's-length carriers. They sprattled, jerked crazily as the barrage of bullets peppered their pasty, thin flesh that flew apart like wet paper. As the first two dropped the ones behind increased their wild seizure. A light curtain of rosy blood blew up and rained down in the elevator, lightly draping the pastel tiles like spray paint. Not until the last felt floor did Carlos stop his locked hold of the trigger- _smart, wasting bullets_- and he hear the thin ring fade from his ears.

He stepped cautiously out into a thin, yellow-tinted hallway. There were saturating shadows every yard, and the hue seeped the area in a sick feel. At the end of the length there was a green board on the wall and a door to the right, and a few paces from him was an offshoot to the left. Had to secure the area…

There was an assurance he wouldn't have to face any more zombies, since he pretty much wiped out the front at the elevator. As he whipped the gun around the corner, Carlos thought that he would have to move the corpses out of that area to allow the lift's doors to shut. Just the mention made him visibly wince. One of those things had touched him before – its skin felt like gel in a water balloon…and sticky-wet…covered in a sheath of mucous decay…

_Callate, Carlos. No esta aydando – no piense de esto._

__Unfortunately, both doors down the offshoot were locked. The numbers over the lintel were filed away in his memory, hopefully to be brought up soon. He sighed and moved on to the only other option.

Carlos bashed the door open when he heard a strangled cry of pain reach his ears. His eyes darted, quickly taking in the haphazard disarray of bottles and papers on shelves and desks, a beam of light illuminated an area behind a partition. If anyone was alive in the place –

He stopped almost comically short coming around the large brown bookcase as Nicholai turned around toward him. The slick Russian scratched his gray fuzz of hair and looked sorrowfully at Carlos. The scream, though- A U.B.C.S. member lay slumped against the back wall. His chin lay on his chest, his own blood draining out. Carlos' eyes ran down to a large bullet hole in his left pectoral and in the sternum, oily black and glistening fresh. Why…?

" You saw what was happening," Nicholai said matter-of-factly. Carlos looked up to him, into those flat brown eyes the platoon leader had. "He was turning into a zombie."

_But zombies don't scream_, he thought. Nicholai's demeanor was making him uncomfortable with his words. The guy was excusing himself- like a kid putting a soccer ball through a window, then at lineup blurting out he didn't do it.

Carlos stepped back. "What's going on here?" he asked hushly, eyebrow cocked at the Russian.

Nicholai's face snapped after half a second, from horror fatigue to a creepy anger, mouth drawn tight and straight. Carlos got a shock running up his spine and as soon as he twitched to, the other man snapped a gun to his face.

Nicholai's eyes were wide and positively burning in ambition. "I'm doing my job, Oliviera. Aren't you doing yours?" His words were quipped and at mouthing each one, his body shook. Carlos brought up his hands to be less of a threat. There was always that disturbed air about him, and now, with his intense gaze and broiled, it was beyond any doubt that the Russian was neurotic. "Hmm?!" he added loudly, flipping the barrel at him.

_Holy_ shit,_ this guy's gonna kill me _–

"Are you alright Nicholai? It's been days since we've seen you," Carlos asked quickly. Talking would give him time. Time to do what, he hadn't a fucking clue, but time nonetheless.

"We?" Nicholai's eyes sparked with interest. "Is that bitch still with you?" he spat, flecks of froth flying from his mouth.

"Mikhail's dead. That only leaves you and me to find survivors and get out-"

"ANSWER my question!" Nicholai roared, face flaming in anger. With each word, he poked the gun at Carlos. "I don't CARE if Mikhail is dead! The citizens are not my responsibility! However," – he moved up closer and lowered his tone – "not letting snitches go is my own. So tell me where she is."

Carlos was sure as hell not going to tell him.

"TELL me- You're DEAD anyway!"

As he was stumbling for words, there was a shuffle of movement to their right and a light _tink_ Carlos recognized as the sound of a grenade pin being pulled – 

There was a far greater danger of shrapnel at that moment. Carlos bent and shoved off towards the door. Almost too close together to separate, he heard a crash of breaking glass and the air clap of the explosion. A wall of heat pressed on his back and a force pushed him too hard into a roll. He smacked a corner of the desk and let out an involuntary cry.

When he could move and sense time again, Carlos tumbled onto his knees, waiting out the whine in his ears to dissipate. Using the desktop to rise, he waddled around the bookcase, meeting the splattered, gooey guts with a rise of stomach acid. He turned away from the soldier's remains and vomited. Tasting a warm, chemical assortment of foods he wiped the remaining from his chin, standing to look at the guy now. Nobody would have guessed what was plastered in scorched concrete was once a man. Carlos looked over his shoulder and saw the broken window…Nicholai's escape. There was an initial swell of anger at him, but it was released. Useless to think that, now.

He found the key to the rooms after rummaging for a good long while. There were some slimy, plump, overgrown leeches in one that he had to put down. Obviously they had been feeding on the corpse of a doctor collapsed by the door. Carlos searched his pockets and found only a scrap of paper with some digits on it. The next room over was devoid of the worm-things but not promising. It was really dragging his spirit down- a headache was arising between his brows and weariness was making itself known in his limbs. God, and it was only one floor…

Considering it had been two days since Jill had awoken and told him she was infected, Carlos supposed the virus was a slower type. But still, it had been _two days_ since she was infected. Jill could be turning into a zombie at that very moment…

He didn't want to think about that possibility. Of course he was going to continue his search. He couldn't take defeat yet. He just had to rest a bit…

Letting his arms go lax, Carlos fell against the wall of the second sick room. He was planning on staying there and resting his eyes, but, scaring the bejesus out of him, the framed picture beside him was knocked off the wall, careening to the floor in a crash. It almost gave him a heart attack, damn loose shit – 

He-_llo, what's this?_

__A safe behind the painting. Carlos felt curious and poked at the keys. What in God's name did they need hidden and locked in a patient's room? They gave you bags for personal belongings…

All of a sudden, that doctor's scribble became more precious to him that ammo. With the entry, a hiss emanated from the safe. He yanked it open, a cloud of icy air spilling out - _cold seal, eh?_

__The only thing in the safe was a tiny vial, barely his thumb's length. On its top was miniscule writing – that sloppy, illegible scrawl of a doctor. Carlos squinted, trying to make it out.

What fucking luck.

"Vaccine base."

He let euphoric joy overcome him and jumped into the air, letting out a silent cheer. The vial tipped from his fingers in mid-leap, but Carlos snatched at it with such rapidity it never was in much more danger evermore.

_I don't give a flying shit if it's only half. Goddammit, its half! Where a base is, a medium naturally follows…_

__Halfway there. It was a far more auspicious position than a minute ago.

Jill was halfway saved. 

AUTHOR's NOTE.

I know what you were thinking as you read over the elevator 4thfloor zombie pop-up: "SPRATTLED? …the hell? Is that even a word?" Mind you, Shakespeare made of thousands of words and they're legit in the English language today. Besides, it fit the situation appropriately.

On another note, you think the title for the story should be changed to "What fucking luck"? Carlos…um, I seem to be using that a lot. Oh, and I hope the kiddies didn't read the chapter. There was a ludicrous amount of casual swearing and forsaking God in it. If they did read it, well…their virgin ears have been popped.

And finally, you're wondering, mayhaps, why in hell I have taken it under my wing to write a story about RE: Nemesis. You've already run through that lo-ve-ly Hospital part- why are you reading it again? (And on that note, how did you make it all the way through Section III to read the Author's Notes?) You're waiting for what the title suggests…and no worries, faithful reader…I shall deliver… ::evil, booming laugh::


	4. Until the End

            In the heavy depth of soaked sleep, Jill saw the beginning. Chris Redfield had smiled at her in that cute, half-smirk way, trying to reassure her that they were going out to pick up Bravo Team. Her mind and world was swathed in something like loss with each new monster, and each new death. It was the loss of her comfortable reality. In the mansion, every once in a while the feeling had popped up in the far places of her awareness, buzzing there like a pest. Every time, it had spread through her as if a thick sap, bringing such a sorrow and helplessness Jill wanted so badly to sit down and cry. Yet she couldn't do that in the estate – that was death. Still – that emotion of frustration and grief and fear kept with her, like that resilient Nemesis. Jill could peg it down at each reoccurrence. In the core of her spiritual will, she was begging to time to turn back, for now she knew – what to do, where to go, what to say. The whole thing wouldn't have happened. Forest, Enrico, Kenneth, Richard, Joseph…wouldn't have died…wouldn't have been _murdered_. But, the pain she felt was of that permanency time had. It was exasperation. Jill found time more as defining past than even being applicable to that nonexistent thing as the future. Time meant a passing of events – events she had no control over, and events she couldn't change no matter how hard her spirit willed that its anguish was enough power to undo an experience.

            Carlos soon realized the futility of rubbing his fingers on his pant legs to rid them of the gooey gunk from moving the zombies. His gloves were simply rubbing into the Hunter blood there. He hadn't even a clue how long the stuff and its sweet stench lasted on him until reentering the hospital elevator from the second floor – after going to the fifth and third floors. When the doors were closing, he had stretched his red fingers and found the goo sticking between the digits like old honey. And like he said – useless to try and rub it off on his dirty pants.

            This made him clench his teeth and yell fiercely. It wasn't exactly that – it was that he hadn't found _shit_ on his traverse through the hospital after the vaccine base. He'd just been wasting bullets on patients and doctors and nurses – bullets and time.

            _No tengo tiempo para correr aqui y aya, no buscando por todas partes para nada._

Oh, hell, he had better luck just randomly jabbing at the floor buttons.

            So he did.

            B3.

            Carlos rocked on his heels while changing his weapons to the launcher, trying to calm himself down. Such a display of self control, really. As if his temper tantrum was going to do anything. He ran a quick hand through his hair to push back the few threads wandering out over his face, and flapped the collar of his vest to let cool air onto his bare skin.

            Hard, sweaty work, saving the damsel.

            He smiled thinking that, because he knew that if Jill heard that one he'd have had a slap already.

            When the ding sounded, Carlos immediately had his Eagle up. There wasn't a direct threat, so his nerves were pacified for a moment. With a step, he came out of the elevator, looking for a target. And not finding one, Carlos jammed the gun in his holster and took up the bazooka.

            The place was disturbing. It had that same endless silence the whole building possessed, only the hall, a jagged "S", was dark. Really dark. The gloomy green of the walls spread it out until Carlos felt oppressed. It surely was a basement. He didn't like the way it felt, as if something was coiled, waiting. The expression "too silent" came to mind. Now it wasn't at all like the quiet of before. This was dangerous anticipation – it was _alive_.

            There was only one door, and that didn't please him one bit. Hell, he didn't care if that meant less to search. The area was creepy.

            Carlos shivered and reached out a hand to open the passage.

            In the tender weight of light sleep, Jill saw the middle. Carlos had smiled at her in that young, warm way, sharing the hope of pushing on toward escape. Her mind and world were swathed in something like exhaustion with each encounter with the S.T.A.R.S. predator. It was the exhaustion of the haunt of her lost reality. In the past few hours, escaping Raccoon, the feeling had popped up in the far places of her awareness, buzzing there like a pest. Every time, it had spread through her as if an airless oil, bringing such a fatigue and helplessness Jill wanted so badly to sit down and cry. Yet she couldn't do that in the city - that was death. Still – the emotion of malediction and yield and fear kept with her, like that resilient Nemesis.

            The Hunter screamed demonically at Carlos as he stepped inside the space. Like a reflex arc, he put a grenade into its stomach and while it was floored pumped it again. The explosion made him wince, but at that point he was so overflowed in springy nerves he recovered quickly.

            Viscid red plasma still burbled out of the beast, though the only part living was an electric twitch in its left claw. The serrated jaw gaped open, eyes sprung wide. Carlos was sneering at it while above the last sludgy bloat of crimson popping and dribbling across slick white ribs, he saw movement.

            It came from between the skeletal frame of a stack of shelves – a blur of that Hunter-green murk. The dead one's pair scrambled from behind it, a grenade striking it in a violent flower of light. But before he could even track it with an eyeball – 

-the Hunter had flung itself over the line of desks – 

-Carlos dived away – 

-Rolled –

A swip of air sounded near his ear, and he turned and found his eye level with the slitted pupil of the creature. With an involuntary shout, Carlos bounced up and thrust the launcher's barrel into its cheek, momentarily prodding it away. It made its synthetic shriek, but by that time, he had put distance between it and him.

Severely pissed, the Hunter shook in its rage. 

Carlos fired, the shot going wide.

The blast knocked the thing into a stumble, and it swatted at the heat with a rising cry.

He took advantage of its distraction and aimed accurately into its chest.

The Hunter stopped its flinging at the fire destroying and eating its scales. With two scratchy, peaking cries, it flopped over the corpse of its brother.

_Thank God_…

In the reality robbery of waking, Jill saw the end.

The first thing Carlos saw in the adjacent room were two giant tubes filled with liquid, suspending Hunterlike mutations.

_Definitely had a bad feeling about this_.

As he ran a scan over the new ground, he continuously looked back at the frog-faced Hunters, apparently unconscious in their stasis fluid. Machines all over the place, humming gently, confused his eye. The initial thing he headed for, however, was the old stack of shelves on the left wall from the door.

Boxes, boxes, painkillers, washers, tools, photos and –

Carlos couldn't believe it.

Could it…?

He scrambled over to a small cup, jerking it up to the weak light to read the label.

What fucking luck.

"Vaccine medium."

And all of a sudden Carlos wanted out of there, his heart flitting too fast. He was just so overjoyed, so fucking happy he actually found the way to save Jill. He wasn't going to lose her. That stupid Nemesis wouldn't succeed in killing her, because Carlos had her salvation in his custody. Soon – so very soon – as soon as he found a syringe – hell, _that wouldn't be hard in_ _the certain building you're in_ – and…

            and the right ratio of base to medium.

            He wouldn't allow his heart to sink. He was too close.

            Frantically, Carlos ran to check every piece of equipment in the room. Even under the Hunter's noses, as bubbles traveled up their tube. On the floor in the corner, stuck under some large console, was a manila folder, proclaiming Medical Instruction. He flipped through it, scanning the tiny type as fast as he could. It was all _bullshit_, and he felt aggrevated at the file, almost enough to throw it, except…it talked about the vaccine. His breath caught, gripping the papers. There was a machine to help him with the mixing, a device that the folder went with – "To be kept with at all times." Carlos looked up to the thing he had jerked the file out from under.

            Next to the Hunters was the synthesizer.

            But –

            _Oh, shit_. 

            …

            _God_dammit!

            Carlos paced the room, flustered. To use the synthesizer –

            -he would have to transfer power from the stasis tubes. Meaning good-morning to the Hunters.

            …

            _Hell_, why did he even have to think it over?

            Carlos glared fiercely at the floating creatures, at their short, thick limbs and claws and reached out, slammed the switch down.

            Carlos

            …_don't go and do this Carlos, you know it's worthless. It's better you just stay and_ _remind me of my humanity_ or some demented new T-virus creation risking his life for her permanency time had there to rescue civilians Come back

            As a loud bubble lurched out of the bottom of the tubes and the slush of draining followed, Carlos dug into the working the synthesizer. It didn't help the thing was a puzzle of five handles and two bars of light. His eye darted nervously to the tubes, the hiss of the rapidly pressed synthesizer almost drowning the drain.

            _Come on, come on_ – 

            The liquid was reaching a point where the Hunters' feet had to come down to the tube floor.

            Carlos overshot the power on the right bar. _Jesus, man! Calm down_.

            He let out a breath, long and slow, while trying different sorts of combination on the handles.

            The synthesizer hissed and slipped out its product.

            The vaccine…!

            He stared in dumb wonder at it, handling it gently.

            _Jill's saved_.

            A screech pierced the air, startling Carlos. He focused on its source, a Hunter glaring at him intently from behind its glass shell.

            _No time!_

Carlos sprinted, a double squall coming up behind him. As he rounded the machine that sat in front of the door, a rain of glass pelted the floor. He paid it no mind, reaching for the handle – 

            Pulling it open, pain exploded on his left arm. It all ran into his lack of thoughts in his storm of thoughts and while slipping through the door, fire spilled from his right leg.

            -_Got out_ –

            _Safe_, he thought disjointedly, stumbling towards the next passage.

            Sound broke his contemplation and limp. Carlos threw a glance over his shoulder – 

            _No. _

            The frog-headed Hunter opened its jaws hungrily at him.

            _No!_

Carlos brought the grenade launcher around and quickly pressed the trigger. The shot lobbed away from his target – but it was distracted – get OUT –

            He fumbled for the door, jerking it open. With another blast at a lunging creature, Carlos slammed the egress. Of course they could open it, but it took a little time to open it, and he used it to bolt for the elevator –

            Something powerful pressed into his back and tore away, leaving a scar of steaming anguish. His spine convulsed and he dropped against his will, hitting the hard, cold ground. The Hunter scream erupted while he rolled over, clenching his teeth in pain and popping grenade rounds off. Fire everywhere – _just get away_ – 

            Carlos scrambled up, but at two steps a claw chopped into his right femur, yanking his leg out of under him. He slammed into the floor again, yanking the assault rifle out –

            One of those damned things that had been hunching over him caught a bullet in the eye. It pitched backwards, howling as a spurt of eye humour trailed into the air.

            He didn't know what was keeping him going – his thoughts were a painful static.

            Carlos got up again, backing away. His right leg was shot, shooting stabs of blinding shock up his body when he put weight on it. The slice on his back stung something fierce and made him cringe.

            The second Hunter came bounding up through the dark. The spittle of the rifle was only slowing him 

            -not stopping – 

            It swung an arm across its path, gashing into Carlos' stomach. He _felt_ the claw piece the skin in a pop and tear through his belly like a knife through cloth – that resistant rip –

            It made the mistake of straightening, catching itself in the bullet spray. With an abrupt, short yelp, the Hunter thrashed out – slashing a wayward claw across his face – a burst of red in his vision – 

            -and collapsed.

            Both dead.

            Carlos slapped an arm across his stomach, feeling wretched exposure and sharp stings. With a pained scream, he fell against the hallway wall and slid to the floor. He could feel the warm jelly of his intestines…

            _God_…

            He blinked out the hot blood from his eyes, grinding his teeth, trying to see through the pain.

            …_damn_.

            Arms shaking sporadically, Carlos released the rifle and pressed against the critical wound. He felt the muscle push in, and his grip almost slipped on the blood pulsating out.

            No…

            He willed his legs to sustenance, telling them move, get up, anything –

            _God I can't die here_…

            With a yell, Carlos shoved himself up out of nowhere, staggering against the wall, squinting to avoid the gash on his forehead bleeding into his eye.

            _Can't die here…_

            Not when he had someplace to go –

            Where was that?

            Was it important?

            He almost fell when his torso muscles seizured suddenly, sending such agony through his body he felt weak and sick and dissociated. 

            Carlos, hypersensitive, blundered to a square of warm light.

            _The…elevator_…

            His thoughts were becoming hard to hold. He barely caught one before it was swept up in the next tide of pain.

            Was it important?

            Carlos fell over the threshold of the lift. A slimy, balmy organ slid across his clenched fingers. His foot slipped in reaffirmage – again and again because he couldn't really feel it. Finally it stopped up against the post of the doors and Carlos could reach up in the thrust and slap the button for the first floor.

            There was a rumble. That ding…

            He rolled over into the elevator with a groan, hot, thick blood seeping out of his stomach.

            Carlos couldn't see.

            _Can't die here…have to get to…get to her…_

It was important.

            He could only make jerky movements, having trouble keeping all those sliding things in his stomach…in – 

            Carlos curled into a ball as his intestine softly pushed out of the gap.

            "Saved you, Jill," he whispered in a faint smile.

AUTHOR's NOTE.

            Of course, if Carlos never came back…


	5. Memorum

She sat up swiftly, cocking her ears to the resounding rumble. It was not far off, not in the clocktower, but close enough for her to feel the altar shake and hear the objects in their cupboards lightly rattle. She strained her ears, even closing her eyes to concentrate on the fading roar. At first it sounded like an explosion, but it had lasted too long for that. What could've made that sort of noise?

Jill wished Carlos was back She couldn't have imagined were he could have gone. The only logical idea was that he ventured out of the courtyard in front, over the rubble of both the helicopter and trolley.

…Gone a long time. He's really looking hard.

They should have found some radios or such. Jill realized and accepted how lonely she was. Most of it was boredom – she swore she could describe the chapel down to every last splinter on the stupid pews. The other percentage was her need to have some sort of presence by her. She figured it was the whole "social animal" stuff about humans. And anyways, Jill thought somewhat uneasily, I like the guy. He was immature at first, but when the situation started to heat up and get serious, he responded with more than enough skill to match it. When he was by her side, she felt confident and secure.

_Probably 'cause it's another gun; double the firepower, less risk._

__Jill brought her knees up to her chin and scratched her thigh. She didn't approve at all with being helpless. Those people shouldn't have any hope. People who took action had more of a chance. Certainly, Carlos was giving her a chance at that moment, however that was because she was close to incapacitated. There really wasn't such a thing as helplessness, or incapacitation. She was sure he wanted her to stay in place, wanted her to be there when he returned. That was why she wasn't leaving, to tag or whatever. At least that's what she told herself.

Finally Jill lay back down, fanning herself with some hymns she found on the table behind her. The muggy air was getting annoying. It felt as if her pores were yawning open and soaking in humidity. She had felt the same thing a few months back when she was running a fever. It was like she was sweating on the inside of her skin, and she received little relief from her makeshift air conditioning.

Funny how she was worried in the mansion about contracting the virus. Jill chuckled. Barry and the rest of them probably thought so too. Chris laughed nervously about it all, then swiped a hand through his roan hair and looked far past the wall, into some deep thought, some deep memory Jill didn't want to disturb. Rebecca had clearly explained how the virus wasn't airbourne at the point they stepped in, but even Barry still looked uneasy visualizing that the zombies and the Tyrant as human. But, she was going to be one – 

_Jesus, how exactly are you supposed to get used to that line?_

__Shit, Jill wished Chris was having better luck in Europe. At least he wasn't being chased and infected by some hyped Tyrant in a tacky trench coat. 'Ol Redfield could take care to not be a fucking sitting duck like she was. She was glad he couldn't see her now, yet it was too bad he was probably thinking she was okay. And Jill didn't want that. She didn't want him to have the shock when he did find out – either that she turned or was dead – like she knew he did in the Spencer estate, finding Kenneth, Forest, and Richard. God, she was a _survivor_. It would be hell seeing one of the _survivors_ dying by what they escaped. The S.T.A.R.S. knew it was far from over, but never intended to be destroyed by it. One less gun for the umbrella headquarters assault.

Chris was too strong to let it take him down. He was too kind and too intelligent to have been brought into all this crap, just like Carlos. Rebecca was too young – her spirit had gone to waste on impossible horrors. And Barry had vulnerability in his family, which should have never been so. All of them…the stupid shit umbrella left around didn't deserve them.

Jill rolled over and fiercely scratched a spot on her hip. It only her skin didn't feel as if a million ants were squirming under her epidermis, or was covered in mosquito bites, she could lay in peace. Returning to her side, she tucked a falling strand of auburn hair behind her ear and continued to fan.

Despite earlier conditions, Jill was finding herself enfolded in the future, in what she knew was coming. She wished she knew how long it would take, though that would perhaps make her lose her composure.

They had in a way discovered how the virus worked in humans turned into zombies. Chris, long ago on August fifteenth, had found those files on the new virus, and working through…a difficult, strenuous, and emotional night, found some answers to their questions. The zombies were humans with their gray stuff deteriorated away, decomposing alive. All they had in their heads were the little primal organs underneath the brain working, keeping the involuntary parts in the body toiling and barely sustaining the epitome of existence – survival. That was the first and last instinct, the foundation of life – life was the struggle for life. God no, that couldn't be, because there were those other things cropping up that made it more. There was a connection to other beings, and a certain happiness that could make someone oblivious to danger. So many things. Love defied the whole survival thing. In love, you could sacrifice yourself, Jill thought, and that sure wasn't the propagation of self.

Yet everything she could think of was torn down by her experience of the zombies. They only ate. The instinct left last was persistence. Still…their selves weren't there, so technically it wasn't the base cause of life. That would mean the self was contained in the cerebrum, then. And of course this answer didn't satisfy Jill either. Nothing she came to a conclusion to did – only the springboard – that as a zombie her self, or sense of self, just wasn't there. It was losing to her body and losing her soul.

As much as she wanted to hope, Jill knew it was all in vanity. "It is better to die on your feet than live on your knees" she had heard once, but that was applying to resistance. She wasn't helpless, she was hopeless. Even she couldn't understand it fully…

_…Must be the virus rotting my brain._

__Jill didn't feel much fear, which made her uneasy in a distant way. Fear of death…seemed illogical to be spawned from the environment around her. _Everything_ stunk of death. Fear of pain…she doubted the whole T-virus munchy on her brain would hurt. Fear of fear…that was sort of what she was hitting for. She didn't allow herself to be afraid because of what fear does to someone. And that kind of fear that most probably would spring up in the present situation would be hopeless; she was already hopeless.

She swatted at the voice taunting her back in her mind. She _was_ afraid of dying alone.

It was all because Jill didn't want to lose her self.

If there was someone…anyone with her…she wouldn't have felt so lost, so useless.

Jill's grip tightened on the hymns.

_No! Not useless, not helpless. Just hopeless. I have the power to do something to change an experience I have yet to have – I don't have the power to change an experience._

That thought was beginning to make lucid some subject.

She pushed herself up on her elbow, pressing her fanning hand to her forehead.

_To lie down and die…or to take matters into my own hands._

__Jill couldn't purge the virus, but she could make sure it didn't take her psyche.

_To take my self into my own hands._

__She clenched her teeth and languidly pushed herself off the altar. It was getting to the point the S.T.A.R.S. member couldn't walk well without using a pew for support, and she weakly staggered towards the big brown trunk.

Absently itching her arm, Jill grabbed the Beretta from beside the typewriter.

_No hope, but not hopeless._

__Jill was staring at the dried blood that had besmirched the strict shine of the gun. She ran her fingers over the barrel, over the trigger, and reached the safety, slowly pushed it down.

She pressed the Beretta to her temple, shaking mildly. There was a hard fuzziness behind her eyes, and this time she let it out.

_God, just look at yourself._

_No hope, but not helpless._

__She gave up a chocked cry.

_You can fend off fear of fear, but are afraid of losing yourself?_

__Isn't this losing herself? What was noble? Was she helpless if she didn't pull the trigger?

Then she thought of Carlos and sobbed aloud. Shakily, Jill set her gun down on the box lid and pressed a hand to her eyes. She couldn't get his words out of her mind.

_"I'm going to get something to help you."_

__If he came back and found her collapsed, dead…

She didn't want to kill his hope, and she didn't want to die alone. Suicide…no, it wasn't her answer.

God, she was sick and tired of not finding answers!

One hand on the gun, a sudden flare of itchy intensity surfaced on her hamstring. Jill reached down, tears steaming on her face and eyes hot…

And layers of skin fell off in her hand.

The rain shushed any particularly loud thoughts, any impulses to itch. It was becoming more and more difficult to ignore. The water song and the crawling scream were contending for her attentions. Jill found staring at the rain source helped.

Jill was trying to ignore something else.

_Carlos._

A while ago the clocktower had struck two. From what she could…asers- figure out, the U.B.C.S. soldier had been gone for something close to three hours.

And she knew he wouldn't stay away that long. She _knew_ Carlos Oliveira.

Jill had lain in the opposite direction on the altar because in the previous position, she could catch fuzzy glimpses of her face in the polished metal of a cross on the mahogany shelves. She was pallid, her skin translucent, and both her eyes were progressively becoming bloodshot. She looked like a waxy, sweaty doll.

She coughed, scratching the back of her throat. With a feeble moan, Jill curled up. No matter which way she lay, however, it still felt like she was in a sauna with twenty towels muffling her. It was a dirty sensation, feeling so sticky hot.

Jill noticed she couldn't much have a speal of thought without her body annoying her and throwing her off.

Yes, it was Carlos and how late he was. She had already booted the notion that he was searching really hard. He was determined to save her and she wouldn't put it past the boy, but… like she said – 

-damn that tingle –

-she _knew_ him. She had seen that determined glint in his eyes, oh, yes, but she had also seen the soft concern in his eyes. He wouldn't have left her alone for lone. Unless he was pursuing something that took up lots of time. No that wouldn't be it. Carlos…would have come back to check on her. She wished he would. He would see how bad she was – how sick – and stay. No, she knew him. It would make him even more… resil- determined. He would go out again –

She shifted and wearily reached a hand up to push away a cover.

But she would tell him to stay. Jill would ask him, plead with him to stay.

_No use to go out again, Carlos. Gone for too long…already._

__She didn't want to itch anywhere. She was afraid she'd shear off a chunk of her flesh. But her skin _crawled_.

Jill closed her eyes, trying to focus on the mellow slink of rainfall.

_No_. Of course he was gone too long. Her mind wanted to be reluctant. But she knew. So goddamn itchy. Knew Carlos was dead.

Jill clenched her teeth, felt the sting of tears and the tightening of her chest.

Jill shushed along with the rain. It lulled her. It was a nice. Nicest sound she ever heard. It cooled off her skin. Itchy itchy still. But it was a nice sound.

She thought in long slurs. She breathed short breaths – something smelt. It smelled sweet. But it smelled like bile and sour. Slowly, Jill stretched to wipe at drool. Fever gone but itchy…stomach growled.

Wait. Waiting. Waiting for someone. Never coming back. Gun for that…for that no hope. Not helpless. He had hope. That someone. Hope. Gun…so far away.

She scratched her side. Oh, forgot. No itching. Something pulled. Like threads out of skin. Moved. Don't itch.

Just listen. Remember? Nice sound. Beating down. Fall, rain.

Lulluby. Itchy. Itchy.

Rain.

**

In the clocktower, just barely was a shuffling noise. The dead silence rung until a bare slip of sound came out from the tucked-away chapel. In the small space, a lone zombie swayed on its feet, sometimes venturing a foot forward. It didn't seem to notice that all save one candle had extinguished its wick, and by this frail light the virus carrier's face was shown. Under pealing, ashen skin and bloodred eyes, the absent ghost's blank gaze held unwavering on the door, waiting.

AUTHOR's NOTE.

Now ain't ya'll glad you have a reset button?

Thanks to Pink Apocalypse's Jenn and Kree for helping me construct this chapter – 'tis difficult to structure the gradual change into a zombie!

Hell, I didn't know this whole fic was going to be so damn philosophical. I thought meself it was going to be good old Resident Evil fun! It just kinda turned out that way. You can get pretty deep at four in the morning, I tell ya. And emotional. Ohhhh, yeah. I cried at the end of writing Carlos' death. Yeah- that's right: cried when writing it! Ain't it pathetic? And I was depressed when I was finishing this chapter.

Well, you made it through five chapters. Now you can go back and read between the lines for that extra philosophical kick. I swear- it's oozing with it! Yes- I know the horror: learning something. ::Gasp!:: That's the end, now SHOO. Go home!


End file.
